


In Which Bilbo Steals Thirteen Dwarves...And Himself

by harrypanther



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bilbo needs a hug, Elves are lightweights, M/M, Mild Angst, Minor Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield, Mix of Book and Film Elements, Nor are most of his guards, Thranduil isn't very nice, dwarves have no sense of direction, one-shot challenge, references to ingestion of non-medicinal drugs, slight AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:07:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24135598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harrypanther/pseuds/harrypanther
Summary: A oneshot challenge between Vala 411 and IPlot: Escaping from discovery in Thranduil’s palace and rescuing 13 grumpy dwarves is simple if you’re a burglar. What could possibly go wrong?Minimum of 4000 words.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 2
Kudos: 106





	In Which Bilbo Steals Thirteen Dwarves...And Himself

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: My first foray into the world of Middle Earth. Do not fear-I first read the Hobbit when I was 8 (which predated the LOTR films by some time) and I love all the movies. For dramatic purposes, the locations of the dwarves’ cells will be closer to that from the book than the films. AU.
> 
> Disclaimer: ‘The Hobbit’ was written by J R R Tolkien. The right to the films and all characters/situations therein remain with their copyright holders.

**In which Bilbo steals Thirteen Dwarves…and himself**

**-o0o-**

Bored was not how Bilbo Baggins, respectable owner of Bag End, Hobbiton, late of the Shire and now official burglar to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, expected to find himself on his terrifying and peril-filled Quest to help the Dwarves regain their lost kingdom of Erebor. But he was. Terribly, terribly bored.

_I’m like a burglar, burgling the same house over and over,_ he sighed as he curled up in the little alcove he had found behind the cleaning supplies store and chewed the half sandwich he had managed to filch from the guards. _And most of what I’m stealing is to keep me alive._

His hunger pangs slightly alleviated, he sat back, still wearing the ring, and closed his eyes. He was invisible, shrouded in darkness and his hearing was the equal of an elf’s so he felt happy enough to snatch a few moments’ rest. And not for the first time, he cursed the dwarfs who had managed to end up on yet another horrible predicament that he would be needed to rescue them from.

_Really-this was not what they mentioned when they said they wanted a burglar,_ he though in a resigned and slightly exasperated manner. _It was all being lacerated, eviscerated and incinerated by a dragon. No one mentioned Elves at all! In fact no one mentioned my primary role was, in fact, being a burglar whose primary role seems to be in burgling his employers from whatever prison they get stuck in. But here we are._

Of course, he could have just left them-as they had imagined he had when they escaped the Misty Mountains and the clutches of the Goblins-but over the long leagues of their journey, he had come to care for the dwarves-even those who weren’t always that polite or complimentary to him. And they were loud, had dreadful manners most of the time, pretty messy, incredibly rough and ready and very poor at offering any consideration for his sensibilities but they were also warm, caring and good company. And they had saved his life a couple of times. Besides, he had promised to help them get their home back-though both Erebor and the Shire had never seemed further away.

His silent explorations had uncovered a few facts. The Kingdom of Thranduil in Mirkwood was not a safe place, beset by various evil creatures-including the spiders-that nibbled at its borders more and more as the years passed. And these were Elves, though Sindar, who had never travelled to the West and on observation, they were not quite like the High Elves Bilbo had met, both on the borders of the Shire and in Rivendell. Those elves, while still mysterious and powerful, had seemed calm and above the small hobbits they met-but Thranduil’s people seemed much less…kind and much more capricious and cruel. They were frankly scornful of their prisoners and all had a tale of how they had taunted the dwarves in various minor but unkind ways. There were some who were clearly more powerful and reserved but overall, the impression was of a more lax regime than that of Lord Elrond in Rivendell.

First order of business-after finding some supplies before he wasted away completely-was to find the dwarves and that was what Bilbo did, quietly exploring the Palace. He kept his wanderings to the quietest times-usually evenings-not because Elves actually slept as Hobbits recognised the term but because the prisoners did, so guard numbers were less and the lamps were dimmed, meaning there was less light to cast a shadow. But every nerve was straining as Bilbo silently padded down and up the seemingly endless halls, winding corridors and almost-tunnels of the Palace. At least he had a decent sense of direction which he used to ensure that he was gradually building up a map of the place until he finally found a couple of guards stationed on an intersection. Sneaking silently past as they were having a lazy conversation allowed Bilbo his first break as he located Bifur and Bofur, who were in adjacent cells in an isolated corner of the lower level.

“Psst!”

Bofur looked up, his eyes scanning the hallway.

“Bilbo?”

Slipping the ring off, he emerged from the shadows and grinned.

“How many other burglars did you bring on the mission?” he asked pointedly, though the twinkle in his eyes belied the sarcasm. Grinning, Bofur managed to slap a hand over his mouth as he began to whoop in relief and Bifur stared at him then murmured a few words in Khuzdul.

“He’s pleased to see you,” Bofur translated and then smiled. “And so am I! Bilbo-you never cease to amaze me. Are you well?” Shrugging, Bilbo paused and listened then sighed.

“Rations aren’t exactly at Shire levels but I’m managing,” he confessed, willing his stomach to stay silent. “And you?” Bofur’s smile widened.

“They’re feeding us and making sure we won’t starve…but I think they may want to lock us up until we’re all too old to swing an axe and cause any trouble…” Bifur mumbled a comment and Bofur’s grin widened. “Though, of course, we are always able to cause trouble. Well, some of us are…”

“Have you heard from the others?” Bilbo asked, still glancing over his shoulder.

“Aye-the lads have been yelling-usually at night so we can heard most of them…though not enough to make out what they’re saying, just to recognise the voices. I think they’re all safe…except…” His face fell.

“Except…?” Bilbo prompted him.

“Thorin,” Bofur admitted. “Not heard a peep from him.” Forcing a brave smile onto his face, Bilbo patted his hand.

“I’m sure he’s safe,” he reassured his friend and then darted back. “Sorry-the guards are patrolling. I’ll be back when I can…” And he dived into the shadows and slipped the ring on before he could be discovered. Bofur glanced at his cousin.

“I have faith in him,” he commented. “Our burglar seems to be able to do remarkable things…” Bifur rolled his eyes and murmured a few words. “Yes, okay-because we seem to be remarkably capable to getting ourselves into trouble.”

It took him a few days of careful observation and sneaking around very quietly before he found twelve of his companions dotted all over the Palace. It seemed that Thranduil had decided to split his ‘guests’ up to ensure they couldn’t easily communicate and try to escape. Most, in their own ways were pleased to see him. Balin was happy to see the Hobbit and managed a one-armed hug through the bars: Dwalin was gruff but mildly impressed: Gloin was as taciturn as ever though he cracked a smile and Oin…well, his ear trumpet had gotten crushed again so Bilbo contented himself with a smile and thumb’s up, since he could hardly bellow any questions to the very hard-of-hearing dwarf. Dori had fussed over Bilbo until the Hobbit had needed to reassure him about a dozen times while Nori had muttered a few words of congratulation and offered the patrol schedule for his cell. Fili and Ori were tucked in adjacent cells behind the main stair to the upper level and had been incredibly hard to speak to, though he had murmured a couple of words in passing and then moved on.

Observing Kili was the most interesting, for the Hobbit noted that the younger Prince was sharing more than afew words with a tall, striking, flame-haired Elvish woman dressed in the colours of the King’s guards. Frowning, Bilbo noted the look on the young dwarf's face and sighed, observing her toy with him gently and then walk away. But the expression on Kili’s face was best described as ‘entranced’ and for a moment, he smiled…before his face fell. Bilbo had hung back, wondering if she was watching, if the younger Prince was being used as bait…but he returned seven times before he was sure that Kili was alone and not being used as bait. The Elf had visited twice more and had exchanged a short conversation each time but after each talk, Kili seemed more alone. He was in a cell not far from Dwalin’s…but there was no sign of his brother, who Bilbo knew was almost as far away as he could be placed and Bilbo realised that the separation was weighing heavily on the Prince.

He had finally found the chance to speak to Fili and reassured him that his brother was safe, though tricky to speak to and the older Prince seemed very slightly relieved by that. But there was one question on everyone’s lips.

“Have you found Thorin?”

Even when he managed a speak to Kili, the Prince was most concerned about his brother and Uncle-and then the rest of the Company. Choosing not to mention the Elf-because Bilbo reckoned it really wasn’t his business-he managed to reassure Kili that his brother was safe and that he was certain he would locate Thorin eventually. Kili offered a wan smile.

“It’s good to see you, Mister Boggins,” he had teased, though the smile on his face had seemed forced. Bilbo winked.

“For that, you’re being rescued last,” he murmured as Kili sighed.

“May be the wisest. Tauriel…the Guard Captain…visits me often,” he sighed. For a moment, he seemed on the brink of saying more. “Is Fili safe?”

“He’s almost as easy to rescue as you,” Bilbo grumbled. “Which is to say-not very! You have all managed to get yourselves in a fine pickle. Has your…friend…mentioned anything at all about the rest of the party? Or Thorin?”

“Well, you know Uncle,” he commented blithely. “He really doesn’t like Elves, Thranduil most of all. He’s probably insulted everyone here and is locked up in the deepest darkest dungeon…”

Heart sinking, Bilbo realised that was almost certainly the case.

“I suppose I should have expected Thorin to be Thorin,” he groused. “And insulted everyone in sight before refusing to do anything to help the situation.” Then he nodded and pulled back as Kili grabbed his hand.

“We’re counting on you,” he said in a low voice. “Bilbo-we know you do this. We’ll do whatever you ask us. And…and don’t let my Uncle believe this is his fault.” Bilbo smiled briefly.

“I’ll do my best,” he murmured as he heard approaching steps and retreated to the shadows, where he vanished. But this time, after a short rest and a meagre snack of bread and fruit that he stole from the guards, he headed to the lower levels. He had assumed there were store rooms and cellars. It took him another two days to poke around the four lowest levels but as he sneaked around, he finally found a couple more cells-and in the furthest one, with a single uninterested guard, he found Thorin.

The rightful King Under The Mountain was sitting in a cramped cell that was dark, damp and isolated and despite his iron determination to return to Erebor and try to reclaim his kingdom, he was feeling desolate. He had no idea where his company was and guilt flayed him brutally: they were his friends, his family and he had led them to ruin here in Mirkwood. Thranduil had taunted him and he had allowed his fury at the Elven King’s betrayal all those years ago boil over, insulting the King in his own throne room and refusing to answer the simplest question. Instead, he had thrown insults at the Elf until thesmug bastard had tossed Thorin into the lowest dungeon he possessed and had promised to keep the company in his cells until they died. What was a century or two to an immortal Elf? And if Thorin paid for his actions, his hubris-then so be it. But for the others to suffer here as well, losing the chance of home, of family, of love…that was the bitterest pill of all and the worst guilt he bore. Especially for young Ori and his sister-sons, who would never see the sky or their mother again.

He had led them to ruin.

The fact his guards forgot to feed him as often as not, that they often ‘accidentally’ spilled part of his water ration just ensured he was hungry and thirsty, weak from lack of food and desperate for news of his friends. But the guards refused to acknowledge his questions and had treated him with bored indifference. Inwardly, he knew that his treatment was carefully designed by Thranduil, planned to erode his will and make him so wretched that he would break, would weakly spill the details of their quest and betray what he had stubbornly concealed from Thranduil…not that the Elf would look with any blessing on the quest. Thranduil would do anything to prevent the rise of the dragon once more and if he could avenge his slights at the hands of Thorin’s grandfather, Thror, then all the better.

No matter which way he looked at it, Thranduil was going to keep him locked up, with his company, until the line of Durin died. _Here_. Rotting in the cells of the craven Elven King of Mirkwood who had abandoned them in their hour of need. Forgotten. Would any even recall the dwarves who had so bravely followed him on his insane and doomed quest?

“Mahal…please find some way to free them. Please help us,” he mouthed, resting his head back against the clammy wall and closing his guilt-filled eyes.

“Would a burglar do instead?”

His head snapped up and he scrabbled to his knees, peering through the bars of the cell door into the gloom. A shape moved slightly and he blinked.

“Bilbo…?”

“Honestly, dwarves really aren’t at all original,” the Hobbit grumbled, scooting forward. “You are literally the thirteenth person who has asked me who I am when to my knowledge, I am the only burglar you brought along on this quest! Maybe there’s a piece of extremely small print in that contract-along with the _unnecessarily_ detailed part about my funeral should the dragon incinerate me, thank you very much!-that I didn’t read that said you have a spare burglar somewhere hidden in our packs…”

“Master Burglar-I have never been happier to see you,” Thorin managed, cutting him off as he flung himself forward at the bars. He found his throat was thick and voice rough with a mix of relief, guilt and treacherous hope. “The others…” Bilbo scooted closer and crouched, facing the dishevelled shape of the dwarf.

“They are safe,” he said, his voice even and calm. The effect was miraculous: the tension eased from Thorin’s shoulders and and he closed his eyes, exhaling as one of his worst fears was alleviated…for now. “Some in better spirits than others…”

“They are unharmed?” Thorin pressed. Bilbo paused.

“Grubby, underfed and depressed but nothing a good escape, a couple of days of hobbit feeding and a good bath won’t put right,” he reassured the King. “But…” Thorin tensed.

“But?”

“You are spread out all over the place,” Bilbo said, his tone exasperated. “It’s not going to be easy-or quick-to get you lot out. It may have escaped your notice but we’re in the middle of an Elven King’s Palace and there seem to be rather a lot of guards and it’s not as if we could just walk out the front door…”

“Even though you walked in,” Thorin pointed out dryly, his lips quirking in a small smile. “I made the mistake of underestimating you before, Bilbo. I will not repeat that mistake.”

“The others will be relieved-especially the boys,” Bilbo admitted. “You are unharmed?” Thorin gave an absent nod.

“I spoke inanger,” Thorin murmured. “Thranduil didn’t appreciate my words…”

“So, in other words, you were Thorin to him,” Bilbo sighed. “Well, that certainly explains the cells and lack of food. I…” He tensed. “They’re coming back.” Thorin frowned.

“But…” Bilbo tilted his head.

“These ears don’t lie, Master Dwarf,” he said sternly. “I’ll be back.” And he ducked back, pressing into the shadows as the two guards ambled up. They loomed over the dwarf, their tall slender shapes with long blond hair and pale, cruel eyes, and gave a dismissive snort.

“They really are little more than animals,” one said sneeringly.

“And it’s insulting that we should have to feed the livestock,” the second said, dropping the hunk of bread that appeared to be all Thorin was being fed. Maliciously, he ground his boot into the bread, reducing it to crumbs. Carelessly, he scraped them over toward the cell and then retreated. The first placed a wooden bowl containing water by the crumbs…then kicked it with his foot, spilling much of the water.

“Enjoy your banquet, dwarf!” he sneered, glancing mockingly at the prisoner. Thorin’s glare would have melted steel but he said nothing. Laughing, they walked away, back to their station further up the hallway. Bilbo slipped the ring off and emerged from the shadows, looking at the seething dwarf and the ruined food. The smallest germ of a plan flickered into life and he sighed. Impulsively, he dug the food from his pocket that he had stolen for himself-bread and cheese, nothing special but far nicer than the ruined food on the floor-and offered it to Thorin. Instantly, the King shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said as Bilbo huffed. He grabbed Thorin’s hand and pushed the food into his palm.

“Stupid dwarf,” he grumbled. “I won’t take no for an answer. I can steal more-but you are trapped here, for now. So I need you not starved and ready to move when I can come up with a plan.” Thorin’s blue eyes swung to inspect his face, feeling the faintest brush of the hobbit’s hand against his as he curled his fingers around the offering. He took a shuddering breath.

“If you insist, Master Baggins,” he said grudgingly. “I will follow your orders.” Bilbo flashed a brief smile, then turned away.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said and vanished.

Life settled into a routine of exploration, visiting the dwarves daily and making sure he stole enough food for them all-especially Thorin, who was definitely marked out for the worst of the treatment. He had finally figured out when he could speak to Fili, Kili and Ori most easily and had become very familiar with the Elven King’s kitchens. After several fraught weeks of thinking up and discarding plans, he had finally found the missing piece to the puzzle-a way to escape, in the form of the delivery service from the Men of Laketown. Sheathed in the invisibility of the Ring, he had watched barrels of wine, ale, grains, salted meat, pickles, various fish and cheese rolled into the cellars from the latest delivery and the empty barrels taken down the ramps to the cellar in the lowest level, just above the river-and then released into the waters. Bilbo briefly caught sight of them bobbing along the current back towards the lake before the trap door was slammed shut once more.

Chewing on a stolen teacake, Bilbo glanced over the kitchens. Elves were generally averse to eating meat-making feeding the dwarves much harder-but the Hobbit was interested to note that Thranduil was preparing for a feast and the Palace was abuzz with activity. There was more cleaning than usual and for that, Bilbo was grateful, for it lessened further the chance that he would inadvertently betray himself by leaving a trail of footprints. There were additional barrels of provisions from far and wide and as he watched every new delivery, Bilbo found the plan coalescing. His own knowledge of herbs and plants was encyclopaedic-as any good Hobbit of the Shire-but his was moreso since he had read every possible tome he could get his hands on regarding the plants of every part of Middle Earth…including those of Rhovannan and Mirkwood.

There were some fish barrels containing fish sauce that the largely vegetarian Silvan Elves seemed to enjoy and as he investigated them, he almost retched at the powerful stench of the fermented condiments but it made his task easier. All he needed was to get out of the Palace...and then back in again.

The Ring was a boon, enabling him to slip out through the main gates and into the forest on the heels of a patrol, though he swiftly veered from the path and began his careful exploration of the woods around the Palace, seeking in older tree roots and damp places and though they were close to the heart of the Elf King’s Realm, there was still the clammy, cold sense of darkness hanging around in the limp skeins of fog floating between the trees. Ears straining for any sounds from Elves or any other species, he carefully unearthed the mostwonderful sight: mushrooms. Everyone knew that Hobbits were crazy for mushrooms and Bilbo could feel his mouth filling with saliva at the sight. Hunched over, he swiftly picked them…even though they weren't the object of his search. But as he poked around more, he found other mushrooms, the species he was looking for. It wasn’t his intention to poison the Elves…but he did wish to incapacitate them…especially the guards and the cellar wardens.

Getting back in to the Palace proved more of a challenge and in the end, he found himself locked out until early the next morning, huddled close to the doorway and tiredly on alert for any monsters, spider, orcs or other calamity. As it was, he was dozing and almost missed his chance, though he was taking a chance for the sun was that brilliant early autumn morning sun that sparkles off the dewy ground and lights the air with warm brilliance.

And produces shadows.

Horrified, Bilbo ducked back and managed to scramble round in the lea of the door, ducking in after the last soldier emerged and diving into the shadows. Breathless and heart pounding so hard that he feared that every Elf could hear it, Bilbo needed to gather his scattered nerves before cautiously making his way down to the lower levels and finally sneaking some pans so he could prepare to brew some tea that should enable him to execute his plan. All he needed was patience and to remain undiscovered.

As the date of the feast closed, he became more and more on edge. Never staying in the same place, snatching only the odd couple of hours sleep here and there, subsisting on what he could pilfer from the kitchens, he could feel his spirits plummeting and only the determination to free his friends kept him going. No matter how down he felt, he always smiled when he visited them, handing over food and murmuring words of reassurance that he would have them free sooner.

Not that they were grateful-not at all. After the initial excitement at his miraculous appearance, certain members of the Company were starting to chafe at their imprisonment and several were less than inhibited in telling him that he should be quicker in securing their release. There had also been multiple complaints and accusations when he had seen them after his sojourn outside, along with snide comments from almost everyone that they thought he had forgotten about them until Bilbo snapped.

“Forgotten you?” he hissed at the familiar shape of Balin, who had gently spoken the words. “How could I forget you? You-all of you, not to mention Gandalf who _of course_ is nowhere to be seen when he could be really useful-are the reason why I am here. Skulking around an Elven King’s Palace, living on scraps, hiding at any sounds, unable to sleep more than a couple of hours in case of discovery-how could I possibly forget the reason why I’m here? As if any respectable Hobbit-let alone a Baggins of Bag End-would be caught dead in this situation. And yet here I am. I should tell you-I have had the chance to escape from here several times every single day since I followed you in but the reason why I am still here and not on my way back to Beorn, or better, the Shire-is because I promised to help you. And believe it or not, when a Baggins makes a promise, he keeps it!”

Breathing hard, Bilbo glared at the old dwarf as the anger seeped from his form and his shoulders slumped. Balin’s eyes narrowed. He was old enough and wise enough to realise that the anger wasn’t directed at him, per se, but at the whole horrible situation and at the general grumbles of his fellow dwarves. Bilbo’s hair was dishevelled and his face grimy: his eyes were dulled with weariness and he was definitely thinner than he had been at Beorn’s. Forcing his face into a benign smile, Balin reached through the bars and patted the Hobbit kindly on the shoulder.

“I know, laddie,” he sighed. “I know. And I am afraid that our travelling companions are not prone to think before they speak.” Bilbo dropped his head, looking defeated. He looked about to apologise but Balin’s hand tightened around his shoulder. “No-you have nothing to apologise for. I know none of us want to be here a second longer than we have to be, so the fact that we are means it is no easy task to escape. Not that any right thinking person would believe that.”

“Dwalin, Oin, Gloin, Dori and Bombur all grumbled that we were still here,” Bilbo said quietly. “And Fili and Kili offered suggestions as if it was as easy as going for a walk down to Bywater from Bag End…”

“They’re young lads with no real experience and over excitable,” Balin said smoothly like the diplomat he was. “I understand, laddie. Stealing thirteen prisoners is no easy theft and for a Hobbit who admitted that he has never stolen anything in his life, you’re not exactly starting with an easy mission…” Instinctively, Bilbo dropped his had to the pocket in his waistcoat, feeling the hard shape of the ring brush accusingly against his fingers. The howling screams of _‘THIEF! BAGGINS!’_ rolled around his memory and his breath hitched before he forced a humourless smile onto his lips.

“My cousin Rorimac always says ‘Go big or go home’,” he murmured and his eyes softened at the memory. “Of course, when he tried steal Aunt Miribella’s prizewinning Ten Pound Apple and Blackberry Pie when he was a fauntling of fifteen, he couldn’t lift it and he ended up covered in the contents. Shameful waste of pie, I always thought. I believe he couldn’t visit her for five years until she finally forgave him…” Balin chuckled.

“I hope you are more successful than your cousin,” he noted, his eyes twinkling. Bilbo nodded, a more genuine smile on his lips.

“I intend to be,’ he said. “Just keep faith. It’s only a few more days…”

Thorin was more concerned when Bilbo visited him after his meltdown and absence.

“You are safe?” he asked for the third time, causing Bilbo to nod. He handed over his offerings and the hungry Dwarf King almost snatched the food, before he paused. His piercingly blue eyes narrowed. “Have you eaten?” he demanded. Bilbo frowned.

“I’ll be fine,” he lied. “I can get some later…” Sagging, Thorin shuffled a little closer, his body almost pressed against the bars.

“Bilbo?’ he asked more softly. “What are you doing? You’re a Hobbit. You need to eat. You’re no use starving yourself. If you collapse, we’re all doomed.” The gentle care in his voice almost brought tears to the exhausted Hobbit’s eyes and he sagged as Thorin tore his sandwich in half and handed the larger portion to the weary figure sitting before him. “Eat,” he urged Bilbo gently and automatically, he took a bite. There was a pause and then the Hobbit fell on the food like the starving Hobbit he was. Thorin sighed. He recognised the burden on the Hobbit’s shoulders, saw the stress building in his eyes with every day and he felt guilt that he could do nothing to alleviate their burglar’s burden. In his heart, Thorin chafed at the delay more than anyone, starkly aware that the days were passing and Durin’s Day was approaching. If they tarried longer, they would miss their chance for another year and he knew in his heart that they could not wait that long.

Every hour in captivity was an agony to Thorin, pushing him closer to yet another failure in his life. He had watched Erebor fall, unable to do anything to stop the Fire Wyrm Smaug snatching their home. Nor could Thorin halt his grandfather’s obsession and descent into full blown madness after the fall of Erebor. Thorin had been needed to lead the sorry caravan as they sought refuge with kin in Ered Luin, helping settle the young and infirm and old in safety while his grandfather and father had plotted an attack to reclaim Moria. An attack he had never felt was a wise move but which he had fought in with every ounce of his strength. And despite his heroism, he had been compelled to watch his grandfather slain and his father taken, fighting for his life against the pale orc Azog and maiming the vile creature…though it had survived. And he had rallied the troops and thrown the orcs back, leading that final charge against overwhelming odds.And though Azanulbizar hadn’t been lost, the cost had been far too high-including all his family, save Dis and the boys. Hope had been lost and though Thorin had managed to ensure his people had a safe and not uncomfortable life, Erebor called to him. But the entire Quest had been a march up the steepest of slopes, with lack of cooperation and help from his own kin, attempts to stop them, interference, orcs, goblins, wargs and now Elves in his way. Maybe he should just accept the will of Mahal and give up.

“I have a plan,” Bilbo murmured, rousing him from his savage reverie. The Hobbit looked up and fashioned a wan smile. “I know it is taking some time but I’m trying to steal thirteen dwarves. That kind of heist takes time…” Thorin felt his lips quirk slightly at the dry tone. He gave a slight bow of the head.

“I trust you, Master Burglar,” he said gravely. Then he gave a small smile that cause Bilbo’s cheeks to flush slightly. “And please tell the Company that I am prepared to wait for your plan-so they should be prepared to as well.”

“I can try…though I doubt any of them will be happy about it,” Bilbo grumbled lightly. Thorin gave a wry smile.

“My company are all brave, trustworthy and loyal dwarrow,” he said honestly. “I would not trade a single one of them for all the gold in Erebor or an army from the Iron Hills or elsewhere-but they can complain about _anything_ , even in the finest hall or the most gracious host.” Bilbo blushed harder. “Think of it more as…normal background dwarven conversation. Or tell them to shut up and make their own way out, if they think they can do better.” Bilbo smiled self-consciously.

“Ah. I will definitely do that next time,” he admitted and then stiffened, his keen ears catching the light fall of Elven feet.

“Go,” Thorin murmured as Bilbo nodded and vanished. He sat back on his heels and sighed, recognising the guards and stuffing his meagre sandwich under his vest. He knew from the guards’ faces that it would be the only food he would be receiving that day.

-o0o-

It had taken time and patience but Bilbo had made two more trips to gather more mushrooms until he was sure he had enough for a large enough brew to achieve his purpose. It had been simple to acquire the herbs he needed from the stores and he was ready to go ahead. Of course, he was terrified that the wardens would dispatch the barrels but since there would be a large amount of wine consumed at the feast, he had overheard the Head of the Household decide to wait until afterwards so those barrels could be cleared out as well. From observation, he knew the wardens in the lower cellars always enjoyed a generous jug of wine during the evening meal…and Thranduil’s feast, celebrating the Lady Varda, certainly counted as that.

Interestingly, of all the dwarves, Kili seemed the least excited at the prospect of escape. From observation, the Hobbit had seen the longing in his dark eyes whenever the flame-haired Elven Captain had visited him. Kili had called her Tauriel and it seemed to the watching Bilbo that the younger Prince was well on the way to losing his heart to the beautiful Elf-a match his Uncle certainly wouldn’t look favourably upon, even if they were not Thranduil’s prisoners. Heart aching for the Prince, Bilbo waited until he was certain she was safely gone before telling Kili to be ready to move.

“It’s time, then?” he asked quietly and there was a species of despair in his voice. The lack of humour and optimism in his usually playful voice made Bilbo pity the young man more. Bilbo nodded.

“Tonight,” he murmured. Kili gazed in the direction Tauriel had vanished and sighed.

“Bilbo-do your people have a concept of…the One?” he asked softly. Chafing at the delay but recognising that this was important, Bilbo paused and sighed.

“I’m not sure,” he said honestly. Kili shrugged.

“All dwarrow have a One, the person they are meant to be with, the person who completes their heart and soul,” he said softly and Bilbo got the impression this was one of those pieces of dwarven culture that was secret and not meant to be shared with outsiders. “Sometimes people take time to recognise their One and others known him or her the moment they set eyes on her.”

_And you think that Elf is your ‘One’,_ Bilbo realised. _And we’re leaving in a couple of hours._ Then Kili smiled wanly, as if reading his mind.

“Time goes on and the Mountain awaits,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “It’s time to go. Who knows what Fili will get up without me to keep him in order?” Bilbo chewed his lip, silently noting that neither Prince could be relied on to keep the other in order as their usual modus operandi was to egg the other on. He nodded.

“Be ready,” he said.

Using the Ring, it hadn’t been hard to lace all the wine with the tea-especially the jug assigned to the wardens and for good measure, he had poured the rest into the bowls of sauce and dressing that were being transferred to the table. Unable to leave things to chance, he had followed the kitchen servers up and sneaked into the Dining Hall, seeing all of the senior Elves in the Kingdom present. Thranduil was sitting at the head of the table, his elegant shape regal and aloof with his equally blonde and beautiful son, Legolas Greenleaf, at his side. Other nobles-Bilbo could recall the names of Elros and Feren as well as Tauriel, along with dozens of Elves he didn't recognise-were seated as Galion, the Head of the Household, oversaw the distribution of the barrels of wine and Bilbo was holding his breath as he saw the Elves start to drink.

Thranduil took a sip and paused, his perfect brow furrowing.

“Galion?”

“It is your finest vintage, Sire,” the other Elf assured him. Bilbo held his breath as the King took another, longer draught.

“Good,” he said absently then turned to his son, speaking in low Sindarin. Bilbo exhaled in relief, hunkering down to wait. As the main course was served, he glimpsed Galion taking a surreptitious swig from the wine and he felt his lips curl in relief.

The first sign he got that his plan was taking effect was when two Elves started crying.

“This poor lettuce,” one said sorrowfully. “It gave its life for us….”

“And this little piece of moss…it never got to see the sky again….” his friend said and they collapsed into each other’s arms, howling in distress.

Thranduil blinked, his lips moving silently.

“What rhymes with Iluvatar?” he asked suddenly. Leaning slightly off-kilter at his side, Legolas blinked slowly.

“My Lord…nothing rhymes with Iluvatar…” Galion slurred as Thranduil frowned.

“No, no no…that is not acceptable,” he concluded, frowning. “There must be a rhyme…” Legolas looked up tearily.

“ _Ada_ -why don’t you love me?” he asked with a pout. Bilbo frowned. At the far end of the table, Tauriel was giggling helplessly with half a dozen other Elves while a food fight seemed to be breaking out. Two Elves had vanished under the table and were making the kind of sounds that perhaps belonged somewhere more private while another three Elves were exchanging obscure stories about the First Age. There was a lot of giggling and many of them were swigging the wine from the jugs.

“Of course I love you,” Thranduil reassured his son without any discernible emotion. “I don’t suppose you know a rhyme…so far I've got Melkur rhyming with whelk…er…” Galion clung to the back of his chair.

“I love you,” he mumbled.

“Ada!” Legolas bawled and clung to him like an octopus. At the far end of the table, some Elves began to sing loudly as Bilbo decided that it was time for an escape. Silently he sneaked out, snagging Galion’s keys from his unconscious and snoring shape in passing…and because he had spiked the guards’ food he wasn’t surprised to need to duck back into an alcove as a group of guards raced by clearly playing ‘tag’. He allowed himself a small smile as he managed to snatch the cell keys as they sprawled on the floor. Grinning, he sped down the stairs, ducking back as he passed two guards smooching and then bounded down to release Thorin first. The most isolated of the prisoners, Thorin was theoretically the easiest to deal with since his unkind guards often left him alone for long periods to emphasise his helplessness….though when Bilbo passed, he found the guards snoozing in a heap.

Thorin almost jumped as the door opened by itself and he frowned and tensed until Bilbo appeared.

“Bilbo!”

“Hurry," the Hobbit hissed as he beckoned the King. Needing no further invitation, Thorin dashed out of the cell as Bilbo locked it behind him. Pausing at the intersection, the dwarf stared at the sleeping Elves.

"Master Burglar...what...?" he began but Bilbo shook his head.

"I will explain later-I promise," he said urgently. “But for now-I need you to go along that hallway, up one flight fo stairs, turn left and then go along to the end and then wait.”

“Why…?” Bilbo cast him an exasperated glare.

“I can free the others but even with the guards otherwise occupied…I can’t risk having an entire company of dwarves trailing around behind me as I try to get this done. No offence...but you aren't exactly stealthy…" After only a heartbeat, Thorin gave a nod.

“I will be waiting,” he said and moved off, casting the Hobbit a grateful look before he vanished round the corner. Bilbo slipped the ring back on and headed in the opposite direction.

Despite the fact they were being rescued, every dwarf insisted on asking questions and arguing with the plan. Bilbo was getting more and more exasperated but gritted his teeth and sent them on their way. As they got higher up the Palace, he got more and more tense until he finally reached Kili-who refused to leave him until Fili was freed. Recognising the young Prince’s desolation at their separation-which had been mirrored in his older brother’s eyes-Bilbo acquiesced. He knew Kili was more stealthy than most of the dwarves-save Nori who seemed to have very well developed stealth and thievery skills-so he took him to rescue the last two. Fili and Ori were closest to the main level so they were last to be freed, for Bilbo felt that their absence were most likely to be noted.

But he hung back after he had opened the door as Kili flung himself on his brother, smiling as he went to free Ori. A small flicker of jealousy ran through Bilbo and then, as instantly, was dismissed. A small part of him envied the bond the brothers had, so close they were almost inseparable, but Bilbo had never had a sibling. Then he glanced up as he heard the sounds of singing coming closer. He tapped the brothers on the shoulders.

“Time to go,” he urged them and they snapped up, eyes bright and alert once more. Silently locking the cells, they followed Bilbo without question as they headed down for the watergate…until they ran into Dori. Bilbo blinked.

“Ah, Mister Bilbo-where did you say we should wait?” he asked. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“Follow me,” he said and headed off. On the way, they encountered various wandering dwarves in the wrong places. Rolling his eyes, Fili, Kili and Ori helped him wrangle Oin, Gloin, Bifur, Bofur, Bomber, Balin, Dwalin and finally Nori, who was stationed just round the corner from the rendezvous point.

“Is Thorin waiting?” he asked as the middle Ri brother shook his head.

“No,” he said. “Haven’t seen anyone. Must have been given bad directions.” Bilbo started and made a small, frustrated sound, knowing his directions had been very precise and completely correct.

"Just once I’d like things to go to plan,” he growled and slipped forward, checking the barrel cellar. As expected, the guards were asleep, snoring loudly. “Okay-can you pick them up-carefully-and put them in that storage cupboard? Dwalin-if you look in that large barrel there, you’ll find your weapons…well, all of them I could find.” He paused and a horrible thought crossed his mind…

…his beautiful home, filled with loud and very poorly-mannered dwarves who had eaten the entire contents of his pantry and almost given him a nervous breakdown. The knock on the door and his frazzled self stomping to the door and hauling it open. The regal shape of Thorin Oakensheld, standing in his doorway, blue eyes sweeping over the entranceway. and the words…

“I got lost…twice…”

“Stay here!” Bilbo hissed. “And get the tops off those barrels…”

“Why?” Dwalin growled as Bilbo glared at him.

“Because I say so!” he snapped. Oin grimaced.

“Tetchy,” he commented loudly. There were mutters of agreement. Bilbo positively glowered at them.

“I’m finding Thorin,” he growled and vanished. Balin swatted his brother’s arm.

“Let’s do what the laddie asks,” he suggested in his amiable voice, the edge discernible to the others. “Bilbo has clearly worked very hard to get this chance so we owe him our co-operation…” Grumbling, the dwarves complied, moaning between themselves.

Silently, Bilbo raced down the stairs, almost back to Thorin’s cell. The guards were still dozing as he retraced his steps and then walked to the point where he had left Thorin.

“Okay-where would I go if I was given simple instructions and I was a dwarf with absolutely no sense of direction?” he muttered, stared at the hallway and walked swiftly along, seeing no other way but heading on up. And then he groaned. There was another stair right by the top of the first and with a sinking feeling in his stomach, he dashed up. This was another level of storerooms and cells and after a thorough though fruitless search, he went up one more level and finally located Thorin, heading back from another dead end in an impressive glowering mood, stomping towards him.

“Master Burglar…” he growled as Bilbo. “Your directions…”

“…can be discussed another time…” Bilbo growled. “And for the record, none of your party seem to have any sense of direction…at all. Now follow me!” Thorin glared back, then managed a curt nod, recalling Bilbo’s exasperation. Swiftly, the Hobbit led him unerringly to the cellar-to find the dwarves still complaining among themselves until they saw their leader, when they swarmed him with relief and a number of protests. Bilbo gestured to the waiting barrels.

“In!” he said. There was outrage and a swarm of protests.

“We can’t…”

“Have you smelled those?”

“What are you planning…”

“We’ll drown!”

Bilbo drew himself up.

“Fine!” he said angrily. “You can all go back to your nice warm cells and continue enjoying the warm hospitality and spectacular cuisine. Assuming you don’t run into Thranduil’s guards…I mean, even I’m not sure how long they’ll be incapacitated by Uncle Glompur’s Special Mushroom Tea…It’s not like I’ve gone to the trouble of finding the only way out of here that doesn’t involve charging the guards and making sure there was a chance to use it. I’m sure you can all come up with equally excellent plans like you have done all the time since you were captured…”

There was a pause and everyone looked at the fuming Hobbit. Biibo was almost vibrating with annoyance.

“Ungrateful dwarves!” Bilbo added angrily. “Yavanna-I’ve a mind to escort you back there myself and then you can break yourselves out!” Thorin cleared his throat and looked meaningfully at his Company, several of whom were blushing or inspecting their feet carefully. He glanced at Balin, both sharing a memory...

_...wrapped in sacks, prisoners of a trio of extremely stupid trolls who were being ably delayed by the resourceful and quick-thinking Bilbo. The same Bilbo who almost strained something rolling his eyes when the idiots loudly contradicted Bilbo's desperate gambit to save all their lives-though most immediately Bombur's-by claiming they were infested by parasites. Honestly, they never listened and always had to argue, even when someone was trying to save their lives..._

Thorin nodded and his cousin acknowledged with a small smile.

“In you go, lads,” Balin chivvied them on. Thorin nodded more obviously and they all reluctantly got in.

“What now?” Dwalin asked as Bilbo walked to the lever.

“Hang on!” he called and pulled the lever. The trap door slammed down and the barrels began to drop away with a loud variety of yells and cusses in Kuzdul…and it was only then that Bilbo found the final flaw in his plan-apart from giggling elves and eternally complaining dwarves with no sense of direction.

He wasn’t in a barrel.

Yelling in dismay, he threw himself after the last barrels and managed to scrabble as he hit the water, a flailing hand snagging the nearest barrel-containing Ori, who was also the smallest and lightest. But no one was prepared for the sight as they drifted down the river past the Palace-to the sight of most of the Greenwood Elves prancing naked on the grass and skinny dipping in the stream. They all waved to the escaping dwarves and cheered as the barrels bobbed by. Bilbo groaned as Ori chanced a little wave back, catching Thorin and Dwalin’s confused and stern expressions. Oh, this was going to be fun to explain…

“Don’t ask,” he groaned as they sped along. “I guess I am now officially a burglar now since I have just stolen thirteen dwarves, a lot of barrels, one hobbit and the Mirkwood Elves dignity.”

**The End.**


End file.
